Stuck
by RobinLady-in-Waiting
Summary: Ben and Meg are stuck on an elevator. Will six hours spent in total isolation push them apart or draw them closer together? Short read


I'd been sitting in one of those uncomfortable, straight backed pew seats in the court room for the last three hours, waiting on Constable Benton Fraser to finish his testimony in an armed robbery case. The longer I sat there the madder I became. Fraser answered each question with careful consideration and consistency, even when the defense attorney tried rephrasing the key question ten minutes after he'd asked it the first time. I'd given testimony often enough to know what it felt like to be under such scrutiny. Fraser didn't seem uncomfortable. Only someone with such a clear conscience can be that cool.

It would be my turn to testify next and I dreaded it worse than having to go to the dentist for a root canal. I envied Fraser his confidence. My palms were sweating and I didn't just have butterflies in my stomach, they felt like buzzards circling.

"Thank you, Constable Fraser." The judge said from behind the bench. Oh dear, one of the buzzards in my stomach had found something to eat below. I knew as Fraser left the witness stand it would only be a few seconds before they called me. I could have exploded at Fraser. It was his fault that I had been called out early from a performance of _Les Miserables_ to chase a three time loser who'd knocked a jewelry store owner over the head and barged into the theater lobby trying to get away from Fraser. I'd asked Fraser if he'd like to join me, since the play would last nearly three hours and it was snowing outside, but he'd refused. Damn RCMP fraternization regulations!

Now here we were at the Cook County Court House, six weeks later. At least he'd asked me if his lanyard was straight on the way up the elevator. It was as straight as an arrow, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to be that close to him. Fraser always smells so good, and I got to see those spring green eyes closely again.

"Inspector Margaret Thatcher." The bailiff called me by my full name. I, as always, winced. There were a few murmurs among the crowd. With a deep breath I stood and took the stand, swearing on the Bible to tell the truth. Fraser took the seat where I'd been sitting, directly in line with the witness stand. He met my gaze and gave me one of those lingering stares that drives me crazy and I saw the corner of his mouth pull up into a small smile. Why did he have to be so distracting?

First the prosecution began their questions. I answered as clearly and succinctly as possible. The whole court room seemed almost bored with the case. Next came the defense attorney, a public defender who probably had fifty other armed robbers just like this one in his case load. He tried to trip me up but this wasn't my first rodeo with American attorneys, Constable Fraser's propensity for getting himself into trouble helping others had seen to that. The defense attorney tried to rephrase the same question with me but I shut him down. He quit trying and the testimony was through. The judge dismissed me and I was ready to bolt out of the court room. It was hot in there and the seats were atrocious.

"Come on, Constable, we have work to attend to at the consulate." I spoke low as he excused himself through the pew of people. He walked half a pace behind me, as usual. That was fine, I didn't want him to see the way my hands shook.

"If I may say, Sir, you did an excellent job on the witness stand." Fraser said as we waited on the elevator to empty out.

"Thank you kindly, Constable." I started to go off on him for sticking his nose in where it didn't belong that night but thought better of it. Fraser had saved the jewelry store owner's life that night. So, I kept my complaints to myself. The fact that I'd wanted him to sit beside me during the play so that I could at least _pretend_ he'd asked me out seemed so very trivial.

"We could take the stairs if you prefer, Sir." Fraser offered when I hesitated getting on the elevator. It was a small elevator and I hated being shut up in those boxes or confined in any way.

"Nonsense, Constable Fraser, it's just an elevator." I lied, thinking, "on the tenth floor, with no way off." He looked at me a bit skeptically. I pushed on, getting onto the elevator as if it were nothing. Fraser followed me dutifully. I'd never seen anything deter him, not heights, tight spaces, nothing. As I pushed the first floor button I suddenly wondered what it was he most feared, what sent him running for the exits. The question didn't last long, I caught Fraser's unique scent and was otherwise distracted. Have I mentioned that he's quite distracting?

"I believe Turnbull has lunch prepared for us when we arrive at the consulate." Fraser spoke as the first two floors passed us by.

"French or Italian this week?" I asked, wishing he'd find a hobby that wouldn't put another pound on my derriere.

"Italian, I believe." Fraser answered. He looked over at me, trying to judge my reaction I imagine. I know because I was looking at his reflection in the stainless steel elevator doors.

"Great, another hour at the gym this week." I thought to myself ruefully. I was thinking about my own dinner plans, for one, when I heard a loud pop, then the lights went out. The elevator stopped on the sixth floor. The jolt of the abrupt stop set me off balance. I flung my arms out to catch myself but hit Fraser in the gut with my left arm. I heard him grunt from the blow after I hit the wall and slid down.

"Inspector, are you alright?" Fraser managed to ask. I couldn't see anything in the darkness.

"Yes, Constable, I'm fine." I took stock of the damage. Nothing but my pride had been hurt. "Are you alright?" I asked after a moment.

"Yes, fine, but we appear to be stuck between floors." His words brought the panic flooding in. This was my worst nightmare, being stuck on an elevator, in the dark. I could feel my heart speeding up and my mouth go dry.

"There has to be an emergency phone in here." I began feeling of the buttons on the wall, trying to locate the panel covering the phone. It took a lot of calming myself down before I could open the panel and find the receiver. When I put it to my ear I didn't hear anything.

"Allow me," Fraser pulled a match from his pocket and struck it, illuminating the elevator for a few minutes.

"I think it's broken." I handed him the phone to listen to. He squatted down beside me and took the receiver. The match burned out just after he took it, putting us in the dark again. I couldn't stop the whimper I let out at being in the dark again.

"It isn't working, I'm afraid. There must have been a major blackout." He said neutrally. It wasn't what I needed to hear. Fear and panic seized me.

"How can this be? Surely they'll turn on a back up generator." I took a deep breath, trying not to completely break down.

"Yes, we shouldn't be here for more than a few minutes." Fraser answered, pulling out another match and striking it. He was squatted down at my feet as I sat in the corner below the buttons. I saw his calm face and felt a bit better.

"Let's hope so." I think I smiled, I know I was trying to. A few minutes passed, or an eternity, I couldn't tell, and we didn't hear anything. I began to feel the panic rising again as we sat in the dark. The air didn't stir in the confined space, I couldn't see anything and the elevator was barely wider than my arm span. No one would be expecting us for the next few hours. I felt tears beginning to well in my eyes. My head told me that I was perfectly fine and that nothing would happen to me. That part of me whispered. The part that said I'd end up a grease spot on the bottom of the elevator shaft was screaming like a hurricane.

Fraser had moved to sit somewhere in the elevator. I couldn't hear him moving around. I felt something on my leg and screamed, drawing myself into the corner as tightly as possible.

"Inspector, it's me." Fraser pulled out another match and struck it. He was sitting near my feet, his left hand on my ankle.

"You should have said you were reaching for me, you scared me out of my wits." I pulled myself out of the corner and was leaning toward him, giving him a piece of my mind. When the third match went out I shut up.

"Inspector, I'm afraid you'll hyperventilate if you don't calm down. Your breathing is very shallow. Take a deep breath and let it out slowly." Fraser spoke as if nothing was going on, as if this were a safety drill of some kind. I tried to do as he said but I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. My mind was toying with me, telling me that the walls were closing in. I ran my fingers through my hair, and tried to imagine myself somewhere I wanted to be. I tried to imagine myself seated next to Fraser at the theater, his hand slipping into my in the darkness. When I heard his voice it wasn't what I was imagining him whispering into my ear.

"Sir, I only have three more matches." I opened my eyes, not that I could tell a difference.

"Constable, I'm claustrophobic, I, oh my, I," I tried not to cry but I felt tears welling up into my eyes and fear creeping in.

"I'm right here, Inspector, we are in this together." He said in his most comforting tone. I reached out to touch him but only found my purse in front of me.

"Where are you?" I heard the words I hadn't actually processed leave my mouth.

"Take my hand." Fraser found my arm and traced it down to my wrist. I felt his hand envelop mine. He squeezed it gently.

"Perhaps it would help if I told you a story? I've been told some of my stories are quite entertaining." Fraser offered.

"Please, Fraser, if I hear another Inuit story I think I'll scream." I rolled my eyes. If it wasn't one of his Inuit stories it was one of Turnbull's. I heard them in my sleep.

"What would you prefer to hear, Inspector?" He sounded rather put out at me. I felt like a heel for throwing off on his stories.

"Tell me anything, Fraser, it doesn't matter." I sighed. I didn't realize it until a few minutes later, but I'd quit panicking. Fraser had distracted me-again.

"My father was fond of telling me how he met my mother. I can hear him telling me that story as clearly as I can hear my own voice." I could imagine Fraser sitting beside me, staring into the darkness but seeing his parents in his mind's eye. I wished I could see his face. Instead, I traced his hand up and found that he was sitting beside me, leaning against the stainless steel wall. After a moment I pulled my feet out from beneath me and sat more comfortably.

"I've only heard good things about your father." I said. I'd read everything I could get my hands on about the man, trying to get to know Fraser better. Robert Fraser's file read a lot like his son's. I could only imagine the real story behind some of the reports I'd read.

"I know Dad mostly through the journals he left behind. There are over a hundred." He sounded wistful. I was at a loss for what to say, I had nothing to make a difference so I said nothing

"My father was a young officer when he first met my mother. She was a spirited woman from all accounts." Fraser began his initial story again. I didn't interrupt. From the tone of his voice and the way he pulled my hand into both of his, I felt he was letting me in on something he wouldn't ordinarily have told any one. I sat in rapt silence, listening to the sound of his voice as he described to me how his mother looked; her green eyes and fair complexion. He spoke so eloquently. I could see his father's face as well, with his blue eyes and mischievous twinkle. Fraser described his father as a man who held common sense in high esteem and never turned from his moral convictions. The way he spoke of his father revealed how he felt like he was still vying for his father's attention, that he was trying to find the man behind the myth.

I could tell Fraser missed his parents. He was only six when his mother was murdered and his father was rarely seen. I listened intently as Fraser told me about his youth and how he came to join the RCMP. He also told me how he came to Chicago. I already knew the gist, but he filled in all the gaps. He chuckled when he told me about first meeting Ray Vecchio and some of the things the Italian immigrants' son had said to him. Fraser spoke of the things Ray had done for him. I could sense that he and Ray were friends, even if they didn't always understand each other. Their differences complimented each other.

Fraser had begun to run his thumb over the end of my nails, sometimes feeling the clear coat I wore to protect them. It felt strange to be sitting on the floor of an elevator, holding hands. It was a dream, a wonderful dream. If only I had been able to see his face. I scooted over as close as I dared to him. I wanted to remember this and remember it well.

Fraser's story began to lead up to Victoria Metcalf. I knew most of the story but not what he chose to tell me on that elevator. He spoke of tracking her above the sixty-second parallel to Fortitude Pass and how he'd clung to the sound of her voice to get through the storm surrounding them, much as I held on to his voice and his hand to comfort me. I heard his voice crack as he spoke of how Victoria had a darkness that mystified him, divided them. He stopped toying with my nails and I think he wiped tears away because when he laid his hand back on mine I felt a cold drop hit my skin.

"You did the right thing, Fraser." I whispered, not wanting to break the spell that had possessed him to tell me his deepest darkest secret.

"Our time in Fortitude Pass left a mark on both of us. Victoria came to Chicago looking for me. She wanted to hurt me as badly as I had hurt her. I would have let her, I wold have followed her through hell willingly. My weakness nearly cost me my life as well as Ray his career." I laid my free hand on top of both of his. We were so close I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. Gently, I found his jaw and pressed a kiss against his cheek. I knew it was a breech of regulations and I didn't give a damn. He'd given so much to others I wanted to give him something in return. What surprised me was when he cupped my cheek and pressed a kiss against my lips. I nearly pulled away in surprise. Fraser's fingers slid into my hair as we kissed, my eyes closed. I tasted salt on his lips and felt his tongue against mine for a brief second. I deepened the kiss, wishing the moment would last the rest of my natural life.

I pulled away first, desperate for oxygen. Fraser's hand still held my cheek as I leaned my forehead against his. I didn't know who had taught him to kiss, I didn't care, but I wanted to thank them for it. No movie kiss, no romance novel or song could live up to that kiss. I get good chills just thinking about it.

"My word" Was all I could manage afterward. He leaned in and pressed another kiss against my lips, less passionate but just as effective. My mind registered that we shouldn't have been kissing but my give a damn had busted. I started to unfasten the top button on his tunic but he stopped me, his hand clasping around my fingers.

"I would love to, but this isn't the place nor the time." I heard the regret in his voice as he pulled my hand away and pressed a kiss against the palm like a promise left for later.

"If not now, when? We've set this aside once already." I sat back against the wall. I didn't care if the elevator doors flew open and there was a _Chicago Sun-Times_ newspaper photographer snapping pictures. I wanted to explore him, hold him against me and ease his pain if I could.

"Be patient." Was all Fraser said to me as I leaned my head against his shoulder. I didn't want to be patient, I wanted to be anything _but_ patient. I knew that attitude wouldn't help matters though.

"So, how are you going to get us out of this elevator?" I sighed, pissed at him and myself. I was just as guilty of dodging as he was.

"My father always said no one flies so high that they can't come down." Fraser took my hand and we stood up. He tip toed toward the ceiling, pushing aside the ceiling tile and shoving open a maintenance hatch.

"Fraser, what are you doing?" I hated it when he went all recondite in these situations.

"The rescue crew will come down the shaft, this will speed the process." I gave him my best withering glare. A dim shaft of light illuminated the elevator. Overhead I could hear people talking.

"They must know we're down here." I wanted to leave, as soon as possible. With the shaft of light my stomach remembered that I hadn't eaten since early that morning. I gathered my purse to wait for the rescue team.

"Hello below." A man's voice called out as a flash light added to the shaft of light from the open doors overhead.

"Down here, there are two of us." I shouted up, glad to be getting out of that box but sad to leave the warm, private cocoon Fraser and I had shared for the last few hours.

"I'm coming." The voice responded. I heard other voices and then a loud thump, as the rescue team member hit the top of the elevator. I gasped audibly and clutched Fraser's arm. He laid his free hand over mine and squeezed my fingers gently.

"It's okay, Inspector Thatcher." I heard him say very softly. He smiled back when I gave him a weak smile.

"I'm Tommy, what are your names?" The rescue team member introduced himself as he lowered a harness down through the maintenance hatch.

"I'm Inspector Thatcher with the Canadian Consulate." I responded as I took the harness. Without a word, I offered Fraser the harness but he shook his head.

"I am Constable Fraser, also with the Canadian Consulate." Fraser introduced himself as he unclipped the harness and handed it to me.

"So, you're familiar with this sort of operation, that's good." Tommy peered down the hatch at us.

"Yes, Constable Fraser and I are both trained in search and rescue." Although between the two of us, Fraser was the real expert, not that I'd let a green American know that.

"We should have you both out of there in a few minutes." I began to slip into the harness but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't fasten it.

"May I?" Fraser asked before taking the harness out of my hands. All I could do was nod as he slid his hands around my hips and tightened the straps. I felt my face heat up and my heart begin slamming against my ribcage. He looked me steadily in the eye, never wavering or reacting in the slightest. I tried to do the same. If I failed, he was too much the gentleman to let on. I let him clip the rope in place.

"Are you ready, Inspector?" Tommy asked a few seconds later.

"Yes, I'm ready when you are." I answered, my gaze glued on Fraser's face. He watched six guys in firefighting gear raise me up until they pulled me into the floor above and I began unhooking the harness. First thing, I found my way through the rescue team, walking several feet away from the elevator shaft. The hall lights were out and the only light was from the firefighters' helmet lights. It seemed like forever until I saw Fraser come out of the elevator shaft safe and sound.

"What caused the black out?" I asked the nearest firefighter, a man in his late forties overseeing the operation.

"Ah, some one turned a car over, took out electricity over all of downtown." The man shrugged.

"What time is it, Sir?" I asked, trying to remember what time we'd finished in the court room.

"It's six o'clock." He answered checking his watch. I thanked him and found Fraser. We'd been stuck on the elevator for six hours.

"We should check in at the consulate, Turnbull will be beside himself." I took a deep breath as I tried to put myself back in order. I had a hard time meeting Fraser's gaze, still feeling his lips against mine. That's when I noticed there was a smudge of my country apple lipstick near the peak of his top lip and a full lip print on his cheek. My eyes widened and I began digging a tissue out of my purse. He studied me for a second, puzzled. I pointed to his cheek. The light of understanding brightened his face.

"There's a restroom." I pointed two doors down the hall past the elevator shaft. He nodded and hurried away before any of the firefighters noticed he was gone. I checked my reflection to make sure I didn't have similar, incriminating evidence on my face.

"Just let me get your statement for my report, if you don't mind." Tommy said from behind me, a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. He wore a t-shirt that showcased his hard work at the gym and his firefighter pants. He gave me the once over, but very subtly.

"Constable Fraser and I finished giving testimony and left the court room around eleven-forty or so. We got onto the elevator to leave. A few minutes later the elevator stopped. We've been sitting inside since." I outlined quickly. It was an open and shut report.

"Alright, Inspector Thatcher, thank you very much." He smiled, showing a mega watt smile and the cutest dimples. I could tell that he was a man who liked to laugh and cut up. His dark hair and glittering blue eyes must have garnered him a lot of attention, not to mention the whole firefighter sexiness factor that he probably worked to his advantage.

"Will there be anything else?" I asked a bit coldly. Tommy's face sobered quickly.

"No, have a good evening." He nodded and left me to wait for Fraser.

The Mountie walked back toward me, his face a mask of innocent neutrality. I let myself slip into the same mask. It was an unspoken agreement between us that what went on in the elevator, stayed in the elevator.

Turnbull was indeed beside himself when we arrived at the consulate. He'd been watching the news, sitting beside the phone in case one of us should call. The junior Mountie was a wreck. He hovered as I hung up my coat and purse on the coat tree in my office.

"Are you certain you're alright, Sir?" He asked me a third time since the foyer. God love him, but the man is so annoying sometimes. I counted to ten before answering so that I wouldn't snap at him.

"Yes, Constable Turnbull, I'm fine. You should be headed home, I haven't authorized any overtime for this pay period." I hoped he would take the hint and go home. My head hurt and the silence between myself and Fraser left me feeling sad.

"Understood, Sir, glad to see you've made a full recovery." Turnbull straightened himself until I thought he was going to snap his spine.

"Thank you kindly, Constable Turnbull. I'll see you first thing in the morning." I walked him out of my office and closed the door behind him. I leaned against the door for a moment, glad to be heading home soon. When I heard a tapping at the door my temper flared.

"Turnbull, I'm fine, I promise, just," I threw open my office door to see a startled Fraser in mid-knock.

"Oh, Fraser, I thought you were Turnbull." I stepped back as he pulled on his ear in that way he does that I've noticed means he's either hesitant or aggravated. I'm still working on which one.

"Sir, ah, I," He stammered. I gave him an exasperated look to prompt him.

"Turnbull fixed vegetable soup while he was waiting. I came to see if you were hungry?" I was surprised that I hadn't smelled the soup when I came in. Oh yeah, Turnbull had been distracting me, and not in a good way like Fraser.

"Yes, I'm famished." I answered, trying not to sound nervous. Fraser was always trying to take care of me in his quiet, gentle way. Too many times I'd slapped him back when he'd gotten too close.

"Would you like it in your office?" Fraser offered generously. I thought for a moment. If I waited for him to prepare a tray it would take at least fifteen minutes.

"No, I'll eat in the kitchen." I volunteered. My stomach was trying to take a bite out of my back bone, growling and churning.

"Very well, Sir." He gestured for me to step ahead of him.

When we got to the kitchen I smelled the rich, hearty soup simmering on the stove. I identified most of the vegetables by scent. My mouth watered. Fraser pulled a skillet of country cornbread out of the oven and set it on the stove. Without a word, he gathered two bowls and utensils while I found water glasses and ice cubes. Five minutes later I sat down at the small table at the far end of the kitchen. Fraser held his bowl and water glass in his hands, turning to leave.

"Please, sit, Constable Fraser." I stood up again, my supper forgotten. He stopped in mid-step, turning and coming back to the table.

"It wasn't an order, Fraser." I said, feeling angry at myself for using my 'Inspector' tone of voice.

"I'm aware of that," He stopped before calling me by rank or my name. I could see the indecision in his eyes. He sat down and began crumbling a wedge of cornbread into his soup.

"You must be sick of the sight of me after spending six hours in an elevator together." I really, really stink at small talk, especially with Fraser.

"On the contrary." Fraser looked up from his soup bowl at me and shrugged.

"Oh," Was all I could manage. I tried to think of something to say but nothing surfaced. Even if I did find something to say, I'd have probably blown it anyway. Every time I'm around him, my brain turns to mush. So, we ate in silence. Grr!

After my second helping of soup, I rose and set my bowl in the sink. I was full and getting sleepy. It was time to head back to my apartment to prepare for another day at the consulate.

"Are you leaving for the evening, Sir?" Fraser rose, setting his bowl in the sink as well. I sighed.

"Yes, it's getting late." It wasn't but what else was there to say?

"Let me escort you out." He wiped his hands on a teddy bear dish towel and followed me out of the kitchen and through the consulate.

Only the desk lamp burnt in my office, casting a soft, yellow glow around my desk. Fraser took my coat off the coat tree and held it for me to slip into. He gently straightened my collar as he stood behind me. A gesture so simple, and it melted me like candle wax. I took a deep breath and turned to face him. I saw something in his face I'd never seen before. He was nervous but I didn't know about what. That made me fidget. Fraser watched me as I straightened my pant suit and ran my fingers through my hair to tame it, somewhat. Suddenly, he took me by the arm and pulled me against him. We landed against the wall near the door, me against his chest. I started to say something but he put a silencing finger to my lips. I felt his arms around me just as they'd been on top of the train. He looked down at me for a moment before we kissed. We both knew that this day had been a once in a lifetime event.

"Fraser, what are you doing?" I breathed as he held me. I was confused and feeling out of sorts. Being stuck in that box still had me a bit skittish.

"What I've wanted to do every day for months now." He said by way of explanation. I tried to search his face for clues but the dim light did little to help me. The Mountie leaned down and I felt his lips on mine once more. I dropped my purse and put my arms around his neck, tip toeing to reach him. Fraser slid down a fraction, lifting me off my feet.

"Fraser, which one of us is dreaming?" I said as he moved his kisses gently to a spot below my ear lobe.

"I believe I am." He answered, his voice vibrating into my ear. My fingers ran through his short, silky hair. With a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan, he set me back on my feet and let his arms fall to his sides. He stared at his boots for a long moment as I tried to jump start my thinking processes again. I could have floated home after that.

"I shouldn't have, I've imposed." He began, tugging on his ear lobe.

"Hell, impose away." I thought to myself, coming out from his spell.

"It's been a very _unique _day, Constable Fraser." I made a feeble excuse and we both knew it. He nodded, understanding what I was trying to do.

"So it has, I agree." He peered up at me, his chin down.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, Constable Fraser?" I asked, unsure.

"Yes, Sir," He put his hands behind his back as I swallowed hard to keep my tears from falling. I knew that I was letting a perfect opportunity to tell him how I felt slip through my fingertips. Then again, he wasn't any more forthcoming that I was being. It was petty logic and I knew it but I'm a chicken, that's just all there is to it.

"I'm glad you're safe, Sir." Fraser said with his usual calm neutrality.

"I'm glad we're both safe, Constable Fraser." I pulled myself together. My tears could wait until I had left the consulate. He'd told me his most painful experiences, why couldn't I tell him I loved him and wanted to make his world a better place if I could? As I looked at him the last time for the day, I saw my lipstick was again smudged on his bottom lip. This time I didn't bother to tell him. Let him have something to remember me by tonight.

The End

**Author's Note:** Just a quick read. I was trying to exercise, to play with first person perspective and help myself write Meg Thatcher a little more clearly in another story I'm working on. Hope you enjoyed this. TYK and read and review with kindness as I try to do the same.


End file.
